


Aliments

by bobadeluxe



Category: Darkest Dungeon (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:29:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22400350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bobadeluxe/pseuds/bobadeluxe
Summary: The Heir called him The Flagellant. In the same vein he called Jahangir The Occultist. The value of our existence equaled to the role they served. Although, when left alone to our own accord, Flagellant introduced himself as Cassian. His name chewed and spit like it was something foreign. Unnatural and strange. Scrubbed raw at his throat as it rose to his blood-filled mouth. His smile was horrendous, a thing of jagged, broken teeth. The corners of his mouth pulled apart so wide needles might've as well pinned the skin.Jahangir tried not to stare, and failed. He then tried not to smell Cassian's foul breath, and failed again.
Relationships: Flagellant/Occultist (Darkest Dungeon)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 31





	Aliments

**Author's Note:**

> I have posted this fic before on my former account, but it got deleted along with it! So now I'm reposting it here.  
> Note that I've given the characters names, and tbh they're more of an original character at this point.  
> This used to be a part of '30 Days Dark OTP Challenge' but I never finished it lol hence the name.

When The Heir introduced him to our new ally, Jahangir wrinkled his nose in disgust. His face contorted with dismay, and his eyes voided of any warmth. Jahangir was an educated man; he had studied everything there was to know about the occult. Yet, pretending to hide his disdain was not one of the many crafts he had perfected. If anything, his education had taught him how to portray his disdain with pride. He could wear it on his face almost as if it was another accessory.

At least, the pitiful man did not respond to his obvious disapproval (unlike somebody). He must've had tougher skin than his scars led Jahangir to believe, or such open disgust was not new to him. Must'vereceived too many side-eyes and upturned noses to feel offended. Yes, the latter was more likely.

The Heir called him _The Flagellant_. In the same vein he called Jahangir _The Occultist_. The value of our existence equaled to the role they served. Although, when left alone to our own accord, Flagellant introduced himself as _Cassian_. His name chewed and spit like it was something foreign. Unnatural and strange. Scrubbed raw at his throat as it rose to his blood-filled mouth. His smile was horrendous, a thing of jagged, broken teeth. The corners of his mouth pulled apart so wide needles might've as well pinned the skin.

Jahangir tried not to stare, and failed. He then tried not to smell Cassian's foul breath, and failed again.

_Uncivilized_ was the first word that came to his mind. It was a word that he'd been using a lot recently. Jahangir couldn't understand it. Yes, monsters, demons, and horrifying creatures - too many to describe - were surrounding us. Yes, everything was bleak and rather hopeless like our future. Our life was hanging on a thread like a sick balancing act. Still, none of those reasons justified behaving like animals. Civilization was the only thing that separated us from the pigs. Terrible enough that he had to associate with the likes of a grave robber, a lust-addled nun, and a bounty hunter. Now he had to deal with this masochistic fanatic, too?

Cassian,a beautiful name wasted on a wretched man, wore nothing but rags. His clothes torn apart, failing to cover up his bare skin. His torso was out in display, showing off uneven lines of faded scars. Rugged lines of fresh open wounds, and curled lines of barely-dried scabs. Those, and the sharp definition of his toned stomach– wait, no, that was not the point. The point was that he was wearing a collar. The kind you would've given to your pit dog so it couldward off hounds. Sharp spikes curled up inches away to his skull, Jahangir feared they might've stab him if he tripped. Cassian masked his face with a hood, carrying a barbaric flail, and bound himself in thorns. It was nothing but an offensive display of violence, _and Jahangir was the one who made a pact with an eldritch god_. Even he never felt the need to dress himself in such a way that let people know of his perversions.

The Heir told him that he recruited Cassian to help Jahangir tend to his allies. Apparently, Cassian came equipped with some sort of healing magic. It was hard to believe, considering... everything about him. Oh well, Jahangir had been under The Heir's leadership long enough to trust his judgment. If The Heir assigned him to venture onward with Cassian, then venture onward he will.

Admittedly, Jahangir had low expectations. No. He had no expectations. It was necessary to save himself from the inevitable disappointments. The way Jahangir understood it, they were a three-man crew that day. Jahangir was the main healer, and he had to carry the burden of two allies as one. A precaution in case Cassian couldn't have pulled his weight, which, at the time, sounded likely.

He was wrong.

Yes, Jahangir could admit when he was wrong. Which he was, wrong to assume, wrong to underestimate.

Cassian did not only perform his duties with zeal. He fought so well that Jahangir found himself distracted. He kept staring at the way Cassian attacked the foes by bringing harm onto his body. As the master of the occult, and as the member of the crew, Jahangir had seen many supernatural phenomenon. He didn't think anything else could've surprised him. What could've topped binding your life to a flicker of flame from a candle-topped skull, right? Yet he found himself surprised, nonetheless. Which further proved to him that he hadn't seen everything this wretched world had to offer. Not yet.

He had never seen anyone fought like Cassian before. For Jahangir, the dark arts were all about control. Untamed forces filled this world to its core. If someone was to use that madness to their own good, then they had to learn how to control it. Junia controlled the light she gained from her faith to punish and heal. Orlebar learned how to control the abomination beneath his chains, unless deemed necessary. Jahangir himself had to keep the mad god under his command. Cassian was the complete opposite. Cassian was the madness itself.

He flailed himself so the force of his blood spills would damage the enemies. Tear them to shreds under the excruciating crimson rain. Cassian cut himself open to heal his allies, taking their illness and their injuries as his own. The blighted skin, the gnashing wounds, adorning his body until he was more blood than flesh. While Jahangir tried to keep himself sane, Cassian threw himself in the center of the void so he could use its power.

Jahangir could never let himself lose control like that. It went against everything he'd learned. Against his own nature. Even if those weren't limiting his capabilities, the soul-flame still regulated his behaviors. Not that he was jealous of Cassian by any means. He still saw the man as uncivilized and barbaric. Even if his power was very impressive. It was like watching a magic act. Seeing someone from the opposite end of his life. The _Ifs_ , and _buts_ , and _what could've beens_...

When they returned to the hamlet, Jahangir decided to approach Cassian. He wanted to learn more about the man. So he could understood the power of 'Lah' and to... apologize for the way he behaved when they first met. It was untoward of him. Glancing at Cassian's blood-soaked,wound-littered skin, Jahangir thought an offer to tend his injuries was a good excuse for a one-on-one conversation.

As soon as he heard the word 'healed', Cassian shrieked. 

**"No!"** He held himself tight, a motion that would've been more natural on a scared child hugging her doll, not a fanatic **. "Without blood there is no true salvation. These wounds are my offering!"**

Jahangir blinked.

"How ludicrous."

_"Wha_ \- **what do you know?!** You're not a follower of–"

"I know those wounds will get infected if you leave them untreated," Jahangir said. Pointing to the open wounds on his arm. "This place is filthy. You can get dirt or the sewage waste into the cuts. Even the rotten insects could lay eggs in your gaping wounds. At the very least, you could lose your arm. In the worst case scenario, you die before you can even pronounce the word 'Salvation'."

Cassian went silent, his eyes hid under the shadow of his mask. Though Jahangir saw his lips form into a stubborn, straight line, he knew Jahangir was right. Like always with everything.

"During the battle, I could understand. Your power tied directly to your injuries. You needed to bleed to use your power. Though when we return to the hamlet, it's foolish to let yourself bled dry from some wounds."

"But..." Cassian hesitated, one hand rubbing across his arm. "You would make them disappear."

"Oh, is that what you're concerned about?" Jahangir laughed. Ha. If he was _that_ good at tending wounds, Dismas would've still trusted him. "Trust me, after I'm done with you, you will have so many scars to choose from. You will never have to flail yourself ever again."

Cassian... blushed. Jahangir saw the color rise to his cheeks under his hood. A lovely red color that had nothing to do with the bloodstains.

How intriguing.

"Visit me at the Athenaeum when you're ready. I will tend to your wounds."

"The Athenaeum..."

Jahangir sighed, "The library."

"Oh!" Cassian smiled. "Yes, Master..."

He left the rest of the sentence blank, waiting for Jahangir to fill in his name.

Ah, yes, he didn't introduce himself the first time.

"Just Master is fine," Jahangir replied and turned away, leaving Cassian there. He didn't turn back to look at the man, but he could feel the pitiful eyes bore holes into his back. All the way 'till he disappeared from sight.

Very intriguing indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This work was betaed by my good friend, Cole!


End file.
